


and all will be well

by coricomile



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fae, Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Folklore, M/M, Trope Bingo Round 6
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-12
Updated: 2016-03-12
Packaged: 2018-05-26 05:43:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,506
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6226231
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coricomile/pseuds/coricomile
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Someone's in Patrick's home.</p>
            </blockquote>





	and all will be well

**Author's Note:**

> For the AU: Supernatural square of my trope bingo card. I went through over thirty different types of fae, trying to figure out what Patrick could be- besides leprechaun because there is already an awesome one out there- before settling on a puck. Because of course he would be. Also, for the record, Ty Cwtch is a real place and it's [beautiful](https://www.logcabinholidays.com/listing/ty-cwtch-log-cabin-pembrokeshire/). Cwtch, in Welsh, is similar to cuddle/hug. Patrick's cabin is a literal hug, and if you don't think that's great you are wrong.

Someone's in Patrick's home. 

Patrick perches on the window ledge, cupping his hands and peering through the glass. There's a human on the bed, curled up in a ball, snoring loud enough to be heard outside. He looks like one of the young ones, his face free of the lines of the last people that had stayed in Ty Cwtch. Patrick huffs and beats his wings. He misses the days when humans asked permission to encroach on his territory. 

He pushes off the ledge and floats down to the mushroom log beside the porch, opening the door painted onto the long dead wood. It spits him out inside the cabin. The human's things are spread everywhere, covering the floor of the single room in smelly little piles. It's disgusting. Patrick flies towards the bed and hovers angrily over the human's face.

The human snorts and rolls onto his side. Patrick's only saved from being swatted out of the air by a quick wing flap. Patrick kicks him, but the human doesn't budge. _Rude_. Patrick's going to spoil all of his food and hide his things. It's going to be great. 

He looks around the room and scowls. He doesn't know how he's going to hide stuff if everything's already so spread out. Maybe he can punish the human by cleaning. He flies to the dresser and draws up short. 

There's an opened box of sweet cakes on the dresser. They're untouched, crumbs splitting off into the cardboard in doughy chunks. Dammit. A food offering means he has to be nice. It doesn't mean he has to like it. He tips the box over and gathers up crumbs, stuffing them into his mouth. The cakes are sweet and creamy and tart. When he breaks one open, splitting it neatly in half with his hands, they're full of blackberry jam. Double dammit. 

Patrick eats a whole cake. His stomach aches when he's done, overfull and swollen, but he still looks at the rest of them with longing. He's a sucker for blackberries. There used to be a patch in the forest when he was a child, but disease long since killed it. He nibbles on a crumb and sighs. The human can stay for now. 

\---

The human's name is Jonny. Mrs. Jones, the caretaker who leaves Patrick honey every Saturday evening, drops by with the laundry and chats with him every morning. Patrick likes her. She keeps his door freshly painted, thanks him for his services, and makes sure to keep her iron hidden carefully away. Patrick wouldn't mind if she was the one living in Ty Cwtch. 

Patrick's eaten two more of Jonny's blackberry cakes in the last week. In return, he's sewn up holes in Jonny's clothes and chased away a pixie that was trying to steal his coins. He thinks it's more than an even trade, but Jonny hasn't once even offered up a word of gratitude. It's obnoxious.

"They forgot about us," Patrick says, laying himself across Erica's lap. She pats his head consolingly before dumping him onto the grass. 

"They've been forgetting about us for centuries," Erica says. She flits to their parents' tree-top home and returns a minute later with a bottle of boysenberry wine. Patrick makes grabby hands at it until she sighs and gives it to him. "That's kind of the point."

"Fucking Robin," Patrick mutters around the mouth of the bottle. Robin, who'd gone and got himself a pet author and ruined proper human-fae relations for the rest of them. "I miss being feared."

"You were never feared," Erica says. She thumps him and takes the bottle back. "At most, you were an annoyance." She takes her own drink and flies aimlessly towards the clearing in the center of the forest. Patrick trails after her, basking in the sweet smell of autumn. 

"I could have been feared." Patrick tries not to take affront when Erica snorts. She's a lady of the court. It's very undignified of her. " _Anyway_ , I'm ready for the interloper to get out of Ty Cwtch and go back to wherever he came from."

"Maybe this is a sign that _you_ should leave it," Erica says. "There's a spot for you with the knights if you want it. It would be good for you to get out of Gwynedd. It's been ages."

"I like Gwynedd," Patrick says. 

He does. Gwynedd is where he was born, where he first learned to fly, where he played his first trick. He's watched the forests shift and change into the beautiful thing it is now, has seen the village expand and watched over generations of Joneses. There's nothing outside of Gwynedd that could be better than it. 

"What do you want to _do_ , Patrick?" Erica asks as they reach the clearing. She waves to the wood nymph hanging out above them and adjusts her heavy skirt over the moss. "You can't just keep screwing around forever."

Patrick lays on the grass at her feet and steals the wine. He reached his milestone day a few months ago and his mother has been on him ever since to pick a path. The problem is, he just doesn't know. If things were the same as when he was a child, he could see himself becoming a house spirit. Bringing joy, making the human children smile, has always been his favorite thing in the world. 

But things aren't that way anymore and all he's got to choose from is becoming a guardian of the woods or a knight, and neither one seem all that appealing. The Unseelie Court has been making a fuss about boundary lines and there's likely to be a war soon. Patrick doesn't want any part of it. He's never understood the urge for territory wars. They happen, one side relents for a century, and then they happen again. It's just… it's just land. It's just bragging rights. 

"Joining the court has made you boring," Patrick says. Erica rolls her eyes. The chip of emerald between them shines brightly in the sun. She'll be off to Gwydir Forest soon to oversee the Coblynau in the mines. Patrick already misses her. 

"You can't stay in Ty Cwtch forever, Patty," Erica says gently. There's a buzz and then Patrick is rolling on the ground, arms full, Jackie's still growing wings brushing against his face. Jessica piles in on top of them, squashing Patrick into the grass and giggling merrily. 

They talk about the coming gathering, needling Patrick into making new gowns for them. Jackie talks for too long about Liam and Patrick makes a note to keep watch on them when the dancing starts. She's too young to be involved with anyone, no matter how many times she reminds him that he started courting at her age. Patrick can't keep Erica here with him anymore, but Jackie will always be his baby. He's allowed to protect her. 

Patrick goes back to Ty Cwtch when dusk begins to break. He's tipsy from wine and cheered from time spent with his sisters. Even Jonny's god awful mess can't ruin his good spirits. The cabin is dark, the blinds shut against the beautiful sunset. Jonny's sat on the bed, head clutched in his hands. 

Patrick hovers above the dresser. Jonny hasn't been out much that he's seen, which is a terrible shame. The woods are blooming with fresh blossoms, and the days have been clear and bright and free of clouds. Humans don't appreciate nature nearly enough. When he flies closer, Patrick realizes that Jonny's crying. 

It's startling. Jonny's not making much noise, but his shoulders are shaking and there's a clear trail of wetness on his cheeks. Patrick's heart sinks in his chest. Carefully, he perches on Jonny's shoulder and touches the dampness. He can smell the salt, overpowering so nearby. Jonny's eyes squeeze shut even tighter, his blotchy face scrunching up as a whimper escapes through his clenched teeth. 

He's in pain. Patrick closes his own eyes and spreads his fingers over Jonny's skin. If he reaches, if he pushes just a little with his magic, he can feel the ache of swollen insides and mangled nerves. Jonny gasps, rocking forward far enough to knock Patrick off his shoulder. 

And- and Jonny's done nothing to endear himself to Patrick, hasn't done anything to earn a gift, but Patrick has never been able to bear the sight of someone in pain. He climbs up Jonny's soft sweater and stretches his arms wide, placing a hand on each of Jonny's cheeks. 

Whatever's wrong with him is strong. It's too much for Patrick to take care of on his own. His magic has always responded to mischief making and illusions, but he studied enough healing to at least push some of the pain away. It takes a lot out of him, takes more magic than it should, but slowly Jonny's hands loosen their grip on his hair and the tears stop flowing. 

Jonny curls up on his side, face pressed to the mattress, and sighs. Patrick lays on the pillow next to his head. He watches as Jonny's breathing evens out, as the pained hunch of his shoulders relaxes. When he's sure Jonny's asleep, he reaches forward and runs his fingertips over the dark fan of Jonny's still damp eyelashes. 

"You're awful," Patrick says softly. 

He takes a crumb from the almost empty pastry box out of courtesy and spends the rest of the night tidying the cabin. Jonny's clothes all smell like mint and cloves, sweet and comforting for all their unfamiliarness. When the sun begins to rise again, dim rays cutting in around the shutters, Patrick finally curls up in the alcove in the bedpost and lets himself sleep. 

\---

Jonny's head bothers him a lot. Patrick spends the next three days hovering around him, anxiously pouring magic into Jonny's skin to dull the pain. It leaves him drawn and weak, tired from the inside out. It must do something because on the fourth day Jonny finally leaves the cabin. 

Patrick trails along behind him, pleased when Jonny stops in the pastry shop. He knocks a box of honey cakes onto the floor at Jonny's feet, grinning when Jonny stoops to pick them up. It's not polite to press for gifts, but if humans can bypass traditions, then so can he. 

Jonny visits Mrs. Jones and splits the cakes with her. Patrick's Saturday thimble of honey is on the windowsill. Patrick gathers a few crumbs from the cakes and settles down on the sill, dipping them into the honey happily. Jessica keeps saying he'll get fat if he keeps gorging, but Patrick doesn't care one single bit. 

He listens as Jonny chats with Mrs. Jones, curious. Jonny's voice is a bit flat, but he talks excitedly about the places he's been and the frozen place he calls home. It's the most alive Patrick's seen him since he arrived. He plays some game for a living, which Patrick thinks is wholly unfair. If he ever suggested spending the rest of his life playing games, his mother would pitch a fit. 

When Mrs. Jones asks about Jonny's head, Patrick sits up straighter, pausing with his wrist still held to his mouth. Some of the brightness fades from Jonny's face but he tells her he's fine, that he's been able to stomach sunlight for a bit and that his migraines have faded from crippling to annoying. Patrick puffs up his chest in pride. 

Mrs. Jones pats Jonny's arm and tells him to visit again when he leaves. Patrick finishes off his honey quickly and barely makes it out the door before it closes. Jonny follows the path into the woods, coming to a stop in the Seelie clearing. The wood nymphs make faces at him as he settles down under the shade of a willow tree, but Patrick shoos them off. 

For a long time, Jonny just sits in the shade, staring up at the canopy of leaves. Patrick sits next to him for a bit, but gets bored quickly. Eventually, he amuses himself by going through the pockets of Jonny's oversized shorts. There's a lot of lint, which really should be cleaned out, a few coins with weird birds on them, and a piece of paper so worn thin it crumbles when Patrick touches it. 

"Where have you _been_?" Jessica asks, tugging on Patrick's leg until Patrick reluctantly backs out of Jonny's pocket. He'd liked how warm and soft it had been in there. "Have you started working on the gowns yet? Jackie wants to change hers to purple. _Liam_ likes purple."

Crap. He'd forgotten. 

"No," he says guiltily. The gathering is in three days. He's going to have to work nonstop on them to get them done. Jessica frowns. "I've been taking care of Jonny."

"The trespasser?" She asks. She flies up to Jonny's face, tilting her head as she looks him over. "I thought you hated him?" Patrick shifts uncomfortably. 

"He's got something wrong in his head," he says. "I couldn't let him stay hurt."

"Oh, Patty," Jessica says fondly. She touches Jonny's cheek and hums, her face darkening as she feels for the pain. "It's bad."

"I know," Patrick mutters. A bit of magic jumps from her fingers but it bounces back against her hand. She startles, flittering away. Jonny raises a hand and scratches at his cheek, shivering a little as Jessica moves back towards him. Patrick twitches his wings. 

"How much have you been doing to him?" Jessica asks quietly. 

"A little every day," Patrick admits. It's getting harder each day to kill the headaches, to tap that deeply into his depleting magic stores. But Jonny has finally left the cabin and the darkness under his eyes has begun to fade, and even though he did nothing to earn a gift, he's also done nothing to earn ire. 

Before she can scold him, Patrick dives back into Jonny's pocket. There's a small pendant at the bottom of it that Patrick had been trying to get to. His wings don't quite fit all the way though and the pendant is just out of reach. It's a good enough excuse to hide out from his sister, anyway. 

Jonny goes back to Ty Cwtch shortly after. Patrick keeps an eye on him as he begins on Jackie's _green_ gown. Sewing has always come easily to him. He'd learned by watching his mother, sat at her feet as she made the royal garments. 

Patrick had transitioned to sewing human clothes in return for favors easily. It was different- too much fabric, not nearly enough decoration- but it was easy, and the humans were normally too busy to do it themselves. The girls' gowns won't be his most elaborate pieces, but they'll do. He'll have to make them something extravagant for the solstice to make it up to them. 

He's finishing up the bodice when Jonny's phone rings. It's loud in the quiet of the room, shocking Patrick into dropping his needle. He sighs, sets the bodice down, and starts the hunt. He thinks it fell on the floor, which is still needlessly sloppy.

"Still in Wales, yeah," Jonny says. He sets his book on the nightstand, drawing his legs up to his chest. It makes him look small, childlike. "I'm doing better. Still get headaches sometimes, but they're not as bad. I took a walk earlier and the light wasn't too bad, either."

Patrick pumps his fist when he finds his needle. He pokes it through the thin fabric of his breeches and flies up to rest on Jonny's shoulder, his ear touching the warm back of the phone. Human magic- _technology_ \- has always fascinated him. He'd give anything to have a phone. He'd be able to talk to Erica while she's miles and miles away, which is enough incentive to bypass the instinctive cringe at the metal insides of the thing. 

"I'm being careful," Jonny says quietly. Whoever's on the other side of the phone says something about a car crash and Patrick's heart thumps madly in his chest. Jonny's shoulders tense, budging Patrick up until his whole body is pressed to the back of the phone. "It was a mistake, I know. I'm not going to do anything else to risk getting back onto the ice."

He sounds heartbroken. Patrick flitters back to the windowsill, gathers up his materials, and settles in on Jonny's lap. Jonny keeps talking for awhile, his voice soothingly steady. He's not allowed to play his game until his head is better. He's not allowed to do anything until his head better. It explains why he'd sat for so long in the dark and quiet, hunched in on himself and breathing heavily. 

"Keep winning," Jonny says as Patrick's embroidering a stem on the collar of the bodice. "I'll be back next week." 

Patrick hangs onto the blanket when Jonny shifts to grab his book and put his phone away. When Jonny settles back down, his lips are pressed tightly together, his jaw clenched in a way that can't be good for his head. Patrick climbs him, butting his forehead against Jonny's chin like one of the house cats. 

Carefully, he pushes his magic into Jonny's skin, reaching for the ache until Jonny goes soft and pliant under him. It leaves him exhausted, sweating through his clothes, but the tightness of Jonny's jaw has faded and the darkness in his eyes has lifted. It's enough for now. 

Patrick slides back down to Jonny's lap and picks the bodice up. All he wants to do is sleep, but he really can't afford to not work on the dresses if he wants to get them finished in time. It's hard to keep his eyes focused on the stitches, the thin thread blurring in front of him, but he shakes his head and keeps going. 

Jonny's leaving in a week and Patrick won't be able to protect him any longer. It leaves a bitter taste in Patrick's mouth, souring his mood for the rest of the night. 

\---

Patrick ekes out the dresses just in time. He had to leave Jonny alone for a full day to get Erica's done, his stomach churning as Jonny left the cabin to explore. He'd worried while he worked, stabbing his fingertips with the needle and thanking Queen Mab for the red fabric hiding the blood spots. When Jonny had returned, he'd blew out a relieved breath and let go of the cloying sense of dread that had dogged him all day. 

He's going to have to leave Jonny again for the gathering. It makes him uneasy. What if Jonny gets another bad headache while he's away, dancing with his sisters? What if Jonny stumbles down the stairs going to the outhouse again? What if that damn pixie comes back and takes all of Jonny's coins?

Before he leaves, dressed in his own finery, Patrick hides Jonny's valuables and soothes the tiny ache that never seems to leave the back of Jonny's head. It's not enough, but it will have to do until Patrick returns.

The night is beautiful, balmy and lit by the full moon. Gwynedd is in full bloom, the trees and flowers giving their last hurrah before the sting of winter comes to take them away. Patrick gathers a purple blossom and tucks it into the pocket of his tunic. Usually, the gatherings are the highlight of his year. Celebrations of another year of prosperity, celebrations of life and joy and the magic that binds them together. He bares his teeth in a stretched smile and pushes through to the clearing. 

The music is beautiful, ancient songs played on willow harps and reedy flutes. Patrick accepts hugs from family members returned from other places of Wales for the night, nodding along to their greetings and wishing them well for the coming year. A group of children goad him into a game of chase, flittering around the clearing on wings still developing their colors. 

His sisters are regal and enchanting in their dresses, hair drawn up in braided crowns. Patrick gathers all three of them up in his arms, ignoring their squawking protests. This is the last time all of them will be together for a long time, and he aches inside already with sadness. When he releases them, Jackie flies off to join Liam near the stump with the layout of sweets. 

"Don't you dare," Erica says when Patrick begins to follow. 

She snags Patrick's elbow and leads him in a dance, laughing brightly. Her wings glitter in the moonlight, the same shimmery red as his own. Around him, the court is singing and drinking. Darius the hob has cornered one of Patrick's cousins, latching onto his leg every time Jacob tries to fly away, laughing uproariously at his own jokes. 

Patrick thinks Jonny would like it here, with the sound and the people and the free flowing magic. 

Patrick dances with his sisters, with his mother, with any nymph that will have him. He dances until his back aches from the strain of overusing his wings, the moon finally giving way to the pastel brightness of sunrise. Erica hugs him as the gathering begins to break up, and they cry into each other's shoulders while Jessica and Jackie laugh. They're both drunk off berry wine and other people's magic, the giddy swell of morning keeping them going for just that small bit longer. 

She's going to be amazing and the only thing Patrick regrets is not being able to follow.

Jonny is still sleeping when Patrick returns to Ty Cwtch, curled onto his side around his book, mouth open and arm dangling over the edge of the mattress. Patrick struggles out of his shoes, dropping them into his alcove in the bedpost. He curls up next to Jonny's head and reaches out to pat at his cheek with a clumsy hand. 

The gathering had been beautiful and bright and fantastic, as they always were, but Jonny is Patrick's. It's becoming easier to see by the moment. Patrick's been serving Ty Cwtch for so long. He doesn't have to anymore. Maybe some imp will come along and take care of the place, or maybe a hob. It doesn't have to be his anymore. 

Ty Cwtch has stood forever, but Jonny is human and really, really bad at taking care of himself. When the week is over, Patrick will leave with him to take care of him. He hasn't been anyone's personal caretaker in decades. He's missed it a little. 

\---

Jonny wanders out of the cabin after lunch. Patrick rides along on the brim of his hat, legs folded under him and wings curled up. He yawns into his hands, head still fuzzy from too much wine. He needs to tell his mother his plans and get her blessing, but he's not ready to leave Jonny alone just yet.

They make their stop at the pastry shop and at Mrs. Jones' cabin. Patrick fixes a snare in the old floral curtains while Jonny talks to her, humming quietly to himself. He'll have to do something nice for her before he goes. Maybe enchant her garden. She's gotten old for a human and Patrick can see the strain in her hands as she pours tea. He'll miss her. Maybe he'll have Jackie start looking after her. It would do both of them good. 

When the cakes are gone and the tea has been put away, Patrick settles back down onto Jonny's hat and smiles into the brightness of the day. Jonny's wearing sunglasses, dark things that hide his eyes, but his head hasn't hurt him all day. It's good. He's getting better. Patrick can't wait to see him on the ice that he loves so dearly.

Jonny ambles through the paths of the forest idly, his slow, steady steps lulling Patrick into a light doze. Magic is still pulsing in the air, will be for a few days yet. It curls around them, shielding them from the cold snap of autumn air. Patrick pulls as much of it in as he can. He doesn't know where Jonny's from, doesn't know if he'll find other friendly fae, and he wants to soak it up while he can. 

He's half asleep when Jonny gets to the clearing. He jerks up when Jonny steps away from the treeline, nearly tumbling off the brim of Jonny's hat. His people are Seelie, have no ill will toward humans, but this place isn't safe for them after a gathering. The lingering magic draws all kin in, Seelie and Unseelie and the courtless alike. 

"Jonny," Patrick says, dropping down and pressing against Jonny's chest. Jonny keeps going, bowling into Patrick and nearly knocking him to the ground. Patrick flies after him, anxiety building up in his chest. "Jonny, come on, you need to leave here." But Jonny can't hear him. They've never been able to hear him. 

A wide ring of mushrooms have grown overnight in the middle of the clearing, called by the magic as much as any fae. They're so close. If Jonny goes in, if he sets so much as a foot into the circle, he'll be stuck there forever. Patrick should never have let him leave the safety of Ty Cwtch. 

"Jonny, please, you have to leave." Patrick wraps both hands around Jonny's thumb, yanking with everything he's got, but he barely budges it. Jonny shakes his hand, frowning a little as Patrick's thrown off. 

He's seen the ring and is going straight for it. Patrick's heart pounds against his ribs. He can't let Jonny cross. He _won't_ , not when Jonny's so close to being better, when he's so close to being whole again. He races to catch up with Jonny, swinging around him and pushing with all the magic he can reach. 

It _hurts_ , ripping from his body in a way it never has before. He pushes and wishes and grits his teeth through the searing pain enveloping him. Jonny's only a step away from the ring. He's so close to being lost, being taken and hurt, and Patrick _won't let it happen_. He tears out every last bit of magic and shoves.

Jonny sails backward into the grass a foot away, his glasses falling off to reveal his wide, startled eyes. Patrick sighs and drops out of the sky. 

\---

Something's wrong when Patrick wakes up. His entire body is sore, his sluggish pulse making his head ache. He rolls onto his side, moaning pathetically. He knows he drank a lot at the gathering, but he hasn't been this hungover since he'd stolen his first glass of brandy from the ancient Mr. Davies when he'd been barely sixty years old. He groans again and clutches his head. A rush of memory hits him and he stops breathing. Jonny. _Jonny_.

"Hey, careful," Jonny says. A warm hand touches Patrick's back, soothing him with a gentle stroke. _Jonny_. In his relief, it takes him a long moment to realize what's wrong. Jonny's palm fits into the span of his back, his fingers spread across the places where his wings should be branching from. 

His wings are gone. His wings are gone and his body aches because it's expanded into something too large.

"Are you okay?" Jonny asks. He helps Patrick sit up, his hands careful and steady. He pulls his sweater off and averts his eyes as he lays it across Patrick's lap. Patrick would laugh at his incredibly human modesty, but all he can think about is the empty space where his wings should be. 

"Yeah," Patrick says. He touches Jonny's face, his hands so much bigger than they ever should have been. It's strange to be able to feel both the rough drag of stubble on chin and the soft smoothness of cheek. Jonny startles but doesn't pull away. "What are you doing going into a faerie ring? Do you know what happens to humans that do that? You're never leaving my sight _again_ , you _idiot_."

"Faerie?" Jonny asks, his eyebrows raised high. Patrick sighs. "Were you- was it you in my cabin all the time?" Patrick huffs because Ty Cwtch is still _his_ but still nods. "You didn't look like what I thought faeries look like." Patrick jerks in surprise.

"You could see me?" He asks. Jonny shrugs. He shuffles from foot to foot, glancing back at the path winding back to the cabin. 

"You looked- I thought you were a really friendly butterfly," he mumbles. 

"I am a _puck_ ," Patrick hisses. He bristles in affront, his back muscles tensing. He startles when he doesn't feel the flutter of his wings. Oh. Right. "I was a puck."

"Are you-" Jonny reaches out, his hand hovering over Patrick's shoulder. When it lands, the shivery spark of magic that's still in Patrick tries to stretch to respond. His body's too big. There isn't enough there anymore. It too will leave soon. His constant companion of centuries gone in a flash. "What happened?"

"I used up too much of my magic to keep you safe," Patrick says. He thinks about his sisters, about Mrs. Jones' garden and the little door that he'll never open again. "I'm not- I'm not human, not really. But…" He shrugs. He's a half-kin now. The thought tugs at him. He'll never dance at another gathering again. He'll never grow another rose from a seed or see a new fae born from a child's laugh. 

"I'm sorry," Jonny says softly. Patrick pushes himself to his feet, unsteady with his new size. He wraps Jonny's sweater around his waist, hiding himself for Jonny's benefit, and takes a deep breath. 

"I was going to follow you anyway," Patrick says. It's different now. Jonny can see him, can hear him. Other humans will be able to see him. He can't- he won't be able to help with the headaches anymore. He'd been flighty and uninterested as a puck, but he'd been able to do things to help. As a half-kin, he's useless. "You can't take care of yourself."

"I can so," Jonny says hotly. Patrick glances at the faerie ring, so much smaller now than it had been, and Jonny deflates. "I didn't know."

"And that's why you need help," Patrick says. He crosses his arms over his chest and steels himself for an argument. He's hundreds of years older than Jonny and has mastered the art of debate with his sisters. He's going, whether Jonny likes it or not. He might not be able to heal anymore, might not be able to chase other fae away, but someone has to keep Jonny safe from himself. Patrick can do that.

"I owe it to you, I guess," Jonny says. He trails his fingers down over the curve of Patrick's shoulder blade and bites his lip. "I'll figure something out. Promise."

"You really are an idiot," Patrick says. He feels the weight of Jonny's words settling in under his skin. Jonny cocks his head, eyebrows raised, and Patrick shakes his head. First step: teach Jonny about the old ways. 

Something small and soft touches his cheek. Patrick closes his eyes, stomach twisting. He can hear bells, sweet and gentle and as familiar as his own name. There are more soft touches to his cheeks, his chest, his wingless back. He can't see the kin, not anymore, but he knows it's them. They're giving him his last goodbye. 

"Be well," a tiny voice whispers in his ear. Patrick chokes back the flood of sadness and nods. He was leaving anyway, he tells himself. This isn't the end of the world. When he opens his eyes again, Jonny's watching him. Patrick smiles. 

"Come on, let's go back to Ty Cwtch." They've got a few days left before he has to say goodbye to it. He's curious to see it through his new size. Jonny, who has never been able to say it correctly, makes a face. 

They take the path back to the cabin. Patrick says a silent goodbye to all of his favorite places, wishing the land well. He doesn't think they'll come back. Not for a long time anyway. They're almost to the cabin when Jonny wheels around. Patrick nearly runs into the solid bulk of his chest. 

"Wait," Jonny says, face doing something funny. Patrick worries about his head, heart stuttering. He can't do anything about it. Now is not the time. "Puck? Like… Shakespeare?" 

"Robin got himself caught by an _idiot one time_ and every human thinks they know about faeries now," Patrick mutters. He clutches at his chest, dizzy from the relief. Jonny laughs. It's not the laugh of a child, it's not the same newborn brightness that brings kin to life, but it's- it's good. It lights up the sliver of magic left in Patrick and makes him feel warm and connected to the earth again. 

Jonny, Patrick thinks as they come to the steps of Ty Cwtch, is worth the loss of his wings. He's worth everything.

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to come hang out at my [tumblr](http://notyourlovesong.tumblr.com)


End file.
